


Roped Up, Tied Up, Dead In a Year

by Chash



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-17
Updated: 2017-03-17
Packaged: 2018-10-06 10:14:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,301
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10332326
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Chash/pseuds/Chash
Summary: Bellamy's never gotten into a real fistfight in his life, and he really shouldn't be getting into onenow. He's thirty years old and finally in college.But his community college is really weird, and some dude was an asshole to his friends, and Clarke is kind of enabling him, and Roan offers to teach him to fight so, yeah, whatever. It's happening.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [elizardbits](https://archiveofourown.org/users/elizardbits/gifts), [HawthorneWhisperer](https://archiveofourown.org/users/HawthorneWhisperer/gifts).



> God, this fic comes from some WEIRD PLACES namely Liz, HW, [this tweet](https://twitter.com/Zach_McGowan/status/842069720681533440) from Zach McGowan, [this tumblr post](http://plasmalogical.tumblr.com/post/77439628130), and the first Christmas episode of Community.

"How have you never been in a fight?"

It's Monty who asks, but everyone seems to be wondering, and Bellamy has to admit it's a valid question. He knows he _seems_ like the type who would get into a lot of fights. And none of them have really gotten to the level of unlocking his Tragic Backstory, so he has so far been able to avoid mentioning that up he was on the straight and narrow for his best fist-fight years to keep social services from realizing just how fucked up his home situation was. Part of him still feels like he _should_ have been fighting against the entire world, part of him wanted to, but--it's not really that he's more of a lover than a fighter; it's that he is, above all else, pragmatic, and fighting was never practical for him. He had to keep Octavia safe, and fighting wouldn't have.

"How many fights have you been in?" he shoots back.

"Have you met me?" Monty asks. "Have you met Jasper? We've been getting beaten up since second grade. We're used to this."

"Do those really count as fights?" Clarke asks, not looking up from her textbook. "If you don't fight back, it's just a beating."

"How effective does the resistance have to be to count as a fight?" Monty asks. "I got really good at kneeing them in the groin and running."

"Yeah, that seems like a solid plan," says Raven. "You should do that tomorrow."

"I think you should be considering non-violent alternatives," Luna says, right on cue.

"The guy literally told me he was going to fight me," Bellamy points out. "I don't think there's a non-violent alternative once someone's said they'll rip your heart out through your rib cage."

"Which is a really stupid threat," Clarke adds. Bellamy's so glad she's just pretending to not pay attention to this conversation, instead of actually not paying attention. "Your rib cage is basically there to protect your heart. There are better ways to go in if you want to rip it out."

"Thanks, Princess. What I really need here is someone telling me how to get someone's heart out of their body."

"I've played a lot of Mortal Kombat," says Jasper. "That's definitely how fights end."

"Then you eat it to gain his power," Monty adds.

"No, you behead people to gain their power," says Raven.

"Only if you're immortal. Otherwise, heart-eating." Monty turns his attention back to Bellamy. "Are you immortal? Is the guy you're fighting?"

"If he's never been in a fight, he probably doesn't know if he's immortal," says Clarke. "You find out the first time you die. So he should let this guy kill him, to see if he's immortal, and then if he is, he can take his head."

"And with it his power," says Monty. "Yeah, that sounds perfect. Do that."

Bellamy puts his head down on the table. "Does anyone have useful advice? Or am I on my own?"

"I'm so glad you asked," says a voice, and he jerks up to see Roan.

Bellamy doesn't know Roan very well yet. He's a new addition to the study group, and Bellamy hasn't worked that hard to get to know him. For which there could be all kinds of valid reasons, but if he's honest, he knows it's mostly because Clarke brought Roan into the group, and he's--just a little bit--jealous.

"What do you know about fighting?" Clarke asks, looking up from her notes so she can frown at him.

"More than the rest of you put together," he says, which does seem distressingly plausible. Everyone else is useless. Roan might actually be his only hope.

"So, are you going to help?" he asks.

"Of course. Anything for a friend of Clarke's."

"Wait, is Roan giving _fighting lessons_?" asks Jasper. "I want fighting lessons."

Luna looks perturbed. "You aren't actually doing this, are you?"

The question is a valid one. He's thirty years old. He's an adult. He should not, in any universe, be getting into a fight with a bully behind the gym. Just because it's a community college gym instead of a high-school one, that doesn't really make it _better_. If anything, it makes it worse. He knew better than to get in fistfights when he was fifteen, and he shouldn't be regressing.

But--he glances at Monty and Jasper. "How much did you guys get beat up when you were in high school?"

"Basically non-stop," says Jasper.

"And no one ever stood up for you?" he asks, turning his focus to Monty. They're a lot younger than he is, actually following the usual progression for college, in that they're here directly after high school, and he can't help brothering them. He brothers; it's what he does.

"It's not a big deal," says Monty.

"Bellamy's got a thing for protecting damsels in distress," says Raven. "Building up to save the princess."

Clarke's looking at her work again, so Bellamy manages to flip Raven off without her noticing. Raven just beams.

"Yeah, we're doing this," he finally says. If he doesn't go, the assholes might take it out on Monty and Jasper. And if he ever sees them again, they won't let him hear the end of it. "I'm in your hands," he tells Roan, and Roan _smirks_.

"Excellent. I'm glad to hear it."

*

"I wasn't really picturing this with an audience," Bellamy grumbles.

"We're not an audience," says Jasper.

"We need to learn too," says Monty. 

"So we can protect ourselves."

"I'm an audience," says Clarke. "You think I'm going to miss out on you and Roan beating each other up?"

"I'm putting it on YouTube," says Raven.

"No, you're not," says Bellamy. He huffs. "Okay, hit me. Uh, metaphorically. Tell me what I should be doing. Don't film this, Raven," he adds, and smiles as Clarke snags her phone. Thank god for Clarke, seriously.

"First," says Roan, with great ceremony. "Your opponent will try to intimidate you. In my experience, most males begin by taking off their shirts."

"You should definitely do that," says Raven.

"For sure," adds Monty.

Roan ignores them. "Now, your natural inclination is going to be to take your own shirt off in response."

"No, it's definitely not," says Bellamy.

Roan ignores him too. He's in some kind of zone. "This isn't a good instinct. They're expecting that. This is your first chance to throw your opponent off-balance."

"You should probably show him," Clarke says. "Take your shirt off, Bellamy." Bellamy glances over his shoulder, and Clarke gives him a sunny smile. "Learn by doing, right?"

"She's right," says Roan, and, honestly, if Clarke _wants_ to see him take his shirt off, he's not going to deprive her. He tugs his t-shirt over his head and raises his eyebrows at Roan, who gestures for him to throw it on the floor.

"So, this is what I shouldn't be doing, right?" he asks Roan.

"Exactly. You've given me the advantage." And then he picks up Bellamy's shirt and pulls it on over his own.

There's something magical about a real, honest-to-god awkward pause. There are so many silences in life, and it's amazing how obvious it is, sometimes, the sound of a lot of people _not_ speaking, instead of just being quiet.

Finally, Monty says, "That does increase your armor class."

"Yeah, what's the AC for cloth armor versus bare skin?" asks Jasper.

"The more shirts you can get, the better your armor will be."

"Yeah, but that's going to start restricting your movement at some point."

"You could probably figure out an equation for that," Raven interjects. "Like, how many shirts can you wear before you lose more mobility than you gain defense?"

"I could just _wear armor_ ," Bellamy points out. "I have armor."

It's the wrong thing to say; Clarke lights up like it's Christmas and several of her birthdays together, and Monty and Jasper look about as excited.

For once, he's grateful to Roan for stepping in. "Don't wear armor," he says. "Never show your fear. Keep them off-balance, that's the key."

"And the first step is stealing their shirt."

"And then you give them _the eye_."

"I can't believe you're not letting me film this," Raven grumbles.

"If I knew there was going to be shirtlessness, I would have let you," Clarke says, and Bellamy's pretty sure he flushes with pride.

Roan punches him in the shoulder, light, like a reminder. "Pay attention," he says. "If you lose focus, you're going to get your ass kicked."

"I'm starting to think you don't know that much about fighting," Bellamy says. "So far your only advice is to steal the other guy's shirt and pay attention. I could have figured that out."

"You wouldn't have thought to steal the other guy's shirt in a million years," Raven points out, and rightly so.

"I'm not convinced that's the psychological advantage Roan thinks it is. What if they don't take off their shirts?"

"I saw that guy," says Clarke. "He's definitely going to take off his shirt. Not to be that bi, but I'm pretty sure about half of macho posturing and fighting is just a cover for latent same-sex attraction."

"That bi?" Bellamy asks.

"I'm trying to make that a thing. You can use it if you want."

He considers. "Is that gonna give me an advantage? Like, I know I'm into guys, so I'm not distracted making sure I feel sufficiently heterosexual?"

"I bet you'd really freak him out if you started hitting on him," she says, and he grins.

"If his shirt's already off I have the perfect opening to start touching his arms and asking about his workout routine."

"Yeah, wow, I can't wait for this fight," says Clarke, tapping her pen on her chin. "You steal a guy's shirt, and then, when he's distracted, start flirting. You're going to get your ass kicked."

"Thanks for your support."

"Don't worry, I have medical training," she says, with half a smile. "I won't let you die on my watch."

It shouldn't make him feel warm and fuzzy, but he's basically given up on appropriate emotional responses to Clarke. He's into her. Like, _really_ into her. It's fine.

"I feel so much better," he says, and it at least comes out like sarcasm. He turns his attention back to Roan. "Okay, come on. Let's do this."

*

"That's a lot of guys," Clarke says. 

"Yeah," Bellamy agrees. There are like five of them, but he assumes only one of them will actually be _fighting_ , unless Bellamy has backup too. That's how it works, right? There's no honor in a five-on-one fight. And, obviously, guys who bully kids in the cafeteria care deeply about the rules of engagement. "Think about how many shirts I'm going to be wearing."

"That's really the opposite direction of what to I want to think about, when it comes to you and shirts," she says, absent, still watching the guys. He'd like to press her on the point--how often does she think about him and shirts, anyway?--but he does have other things to do. "You really are going to get your ass kicked. I thought I was kidding."

"Maybe one of them will want to make out, and then the others will turn on him."

"Yeah, definitely use your sexuality as a weapon."

"I feel like that's my only real move. But then I should be shirtless too, right?"

"If you're wearing like five shirts it's definitely not going to be hot, yeah."

"It's going to be incredibly hot. I'll die of heatstroke."

"I'll tell people you went down in battle."

"Thanks." The campus clock starts chiming three, and the guy--Bellamy is about ninety percent sure his name is Dax--steps forward and roars. Like, actually roars, like he's just been picked in a fighting game. "So, yeah. I'm going to die. Tell my sister I love her."

"I said I wasn't going to let you die, and I meant it." She holds out her hand, and he gives her his glasses. He was sort of expecting more people to be here on his side, but Luna set up some sort of non-violent protest to his fight, so he assumes they're getting food first. He can't really blame them. At least Clarke came. She's the important one.

"I knew you liked me," he says, and Dax rips his shirt off. "I guess that's my cue."

"Good luck."

The thing is, he doesn't have a better idea than just doing what Roan told him to, so he grabs Dax's shirt and pulls it on. Dax looks genuinely confused and alarmed, so score one for Roan.

He follows it up with the stink eye, and Dax returns it, and then he's at a loss, because he honestly does not know how to just punch someone. It feels kind of weirdly rude, even though Dax called him here to fight. He's an adult, and, granted, he's not a very _good_ adult, but he still has some trouble with the idea that he should be solving his problems by punching some asshole in the face.

Which actually leaves him in an even more awkward position, because now he's just behind the gymnasium, not wearing his glasses and wearing someone else's shirt, failing to punch a guy while the girl he has a thing for watches.

This community college thing is really not going like he planned.

"So, uh--" he starts, and then Dax does punch him, hard, in the jaw, and he staggers back. "Jesus fuck!" he exclaims, and punches back without really thinking about it, so apparently that's what it takes to get him in a fight; someone else just has to start it.

Which sucks, because all of his half an hour of weird backroom training with Roan was about getting the upper hand, and he squandered his entire advantage.

Or, well, okay. Not his _entire_ advantage.

With deliberation, he licks the corner of his mouth, which is bleeding a little. "So, uh, is this as hot for you as it is for me?" he asks, with half a smirk, and throws in a wink, for good measure.

What does he have to lose?

*

"Did you call them when it became clear I was going to die, or did they just show up?" Bellamy asks. He's sitting on their usual table in the library while Clarke dabs at his eye with a warm washcloth. He has a _black eye_. He hasn't had a black eye since he was in second grade and Andy Porter hit him with his elbow when they were playing soccer in gym class. Also his jaw hurts, and his shoulder hurts, and at least one of those guys _was_ bicurious, and definitely now thinks Bellamy has some kinks he does not have.

"I was texting Raven the whole time," Clarke says. "But I didn't tell them to run until he punched you."

"When did you start punching people?" he asks, squinting at her with his remaining good eye. She looks pretty good, for having been in a fight, which makes him feel better.

Plus, they're alone and she's patching him up, as promised. It might just be the mild concussion talking, but he's feeling pretty good about his life.

"Right after you did," says Clarke. "I'm not really surprised you trying to hit on him got him throwing slurs, but fuck that, I wasn't going to just let him get away with it." She grins. "And they really weren't ready to hit a girl, so that helped."

"Who says chivalry is dead?" he mutters. "Thanks for the rescue."

"I didn't really think you'd do it," she admits. "Or he wouldn't. I figured it would just be ridiculous."

Bellamy grins, and his lip definitely splits on it. "It was completely ridiculous. I'm wearing four shirts."

Clarke laughs. "I can't believe you kept doing that."

"It distracted them! They were so confused every time."

"And Roan only got two. He must be so jealous."

"The spoils of war." He wets his lips. "What's this actually doing? The towel on my eye."

"Making me feel better. Hopefully making you feel better too, but--mostly me."

It feels encouraging; he raises his hand up to cover hers, and smiles at her as best he can given his current state. "I'm fine, Clarke."

"I'm not going to kiss you because your lip is split open," she says, but she slides her hand down so she's cradling his face, and he leans into it and squeezes her fingers.

"Is that not a turn-on for you? Guys with black eyes and split lips who are wearing four t-shirts?"

"It's like you've seen my PornHub search history." She leans in to brush her nose against his. "Seriously, I think you shouldn't get in any more fights. Jasper and Monty can take care of themselves."

"You know that's not true."

"I think we can settle our problems without violence."

"I think I can just let Roan fight for me from now on. Assuming you don't need your boyfriend to be some badass who steals people's shirts and punches them while they're confused."

"My boyfriend, huh?"

"Once my lip isn't split open," he says, and she pecks him on the side of the mouth, quick. 

"Just promise you'll take your shirt off for me more than you'll put extra shirts on."

He laughs, and then winces, because his body doesn't care that he's stupidly happy; it just knows it's still in incredible pain. Whatever, it'll get over it. "I think I can promise that, yeah."

"Awesome." She pulls back and offers him her hand. "Come on. You should come to my place. So I can monitor you."

"You're the expert," he says, and lets her tug him up. "Lead the way."

*

Because their college is genuinely fucked up, it's less than three months before some other dude is taking off his shirt and demanding that Bellamy fight him.

"How does this keep happening to you?" Clarke asks. 

Bellamy looks at the shirt; it's going to be really tight on him. The guy is very tiny and very angry. "I've just got one of those faces, I guess. Do you hit girls?"

"What?" asks the kid.

"This is my girlfriend," he says. "She fights all my battles for me. I'm basically a coward. I'm just gonna steal your shirt, honestly. That's my thing."

The kid is looking increasingly confused. "You want me to fight your girlfriend?"

"Kind of, yeah."

Clarke smiles and offers her hand. "Hi. I'm the girlfriend."

Bellamy waits until the guy shakes before he says, "Cool, glad you guys are getting along. I'm just gonna take your shirt and go. You two have fun."

He doesn't actually _leave_ , of course, but he goes out of sight, and watches until Clarke leaves the guy, who still looks completely baffled by the whole exchange. Which was basically Bellamy's plan.

"Thanks for not putting on another shirt," she says, leaning up for a kiss.

"I understand the terms of our relationship, yeah. Did he do anything?"

"He told me to call him if I ever wanted to date a real man."

"Nice of him." He drapes his arm over her shoulders and nuzzles her hair. "I think this is the right way to deal with fights."

"Steal their shirts and leave me to deal with it?"

"It beats getting punched in the face. And, hey, free shirt."

Clarke laughs. "Wow. You really have it all figured out, huh?"

"More every day," he says, with a wry smile. "You want to see how tight this shirt is on me?"

"I really do," she says, and, yeah.

He's definitely getting the hang of this college thing.


End file.
